The Misadventures of Bird Girl and Fang Boy
by CapnSureYouAre
Summary: Outtakes, extras and dirty little tidbits from The Cygnet and the Strigoi.


A/N: This has not been beta'd, read at your own risk. This is rated M, just like tCatS, so don't read it if you are not at least 16 years of age. This should be taken with a grain of salt, perhaps a whole vat of it, because while I mean every word (ward, haha) of it, we all know what Ed thinks and what Ed says out loud are not always the same thing, so this may or may not come into play in later chapters of tCatS. I do not own Twilight, or Romeo and Juliet, or Julius Caesar, for that matter. Hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

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Watching

Edward's Retelling of Ch. 9: The Way We Were from tCatS

In my father's house, my stone-cold body perpetually faces one-hundred and three degrees south-southwest. Standing like an obelisk dedicated to the divine creature known as Bella Swan, when Rosalie turns on the lights in the living room (one of many useless odes to her humanity since we can see as well in the dark as in the day) the shadow I cast stretches across the hardwood floor like the arrow of a compass, constantly pointing to my very own North Star.

She guides my every action now. My every thought is filled with the need to be near her, touching her, breathing her in, releasing inside her. Much like I did to the bloodlust that ruled me for eighty-seven years until she usurped its throne, I will tamp down my baser urges, until… unless she gives me permission to worship every bit of her the way I would give my condemned soul to do, if I knew where to find it.

Jasper approaches me, sidling into my line of sight, causing my shadow to fall across his lithe, scarred form. His smile is tight and his succinct thoughts are a command, not a request: _Get out._

He is entertaining his guests, Peter and Charlotte, but it has been difficult for him to focus on being a good, polite host because he keeps envisioning throwing Alice onto the ground and plunging into her in an attempt to exorcise the excess emotion caused by my sexual frustration, more potent than a thirteen year old boy secretly and shamefully lusting after his best friend's silken-haired mother.

Alice, constantly watching her husband's possible futures, is well aware of his thoughts and is more curious than concerned. I focus on her mind for a moment, trying to find my immediate future before I leave. Her mind is clear of me, so I must succeed in seeing Bella. I look at Alice for confirmation and she shrugs, her lips pinched in disapproval. I nod to Carlisle who raises his brows almost imperceptibly in response. _Just use your good sense, son_. He thinks getting up close and personal with a shape-shifter can only lead to trouble, and he is probably right, but he also trusts my instincts. Of course, I neglected to mention to him that my instincts were currently being overruled by my newly-discovered, raging libido.

I rush out, lured to the girl across town, sticking to the trees as much as I can, but refusing to let anything or anyone stop me now that I have made up my mind. I stop in the cover of the trees across the street from her house. The chief's car is gone, and I can only hear Bella's slow, deep breath in her house. I listen for a while, hypnotized by its peaceful, easy rhythm, wishing nothing more than that I could lie down next to her and find some rest, when the rhythm changes, hitches, and she softly, unmistakably sighs my name, "_Edward_," just a breathy exhalation on her pliant lips.

I scan her neighbors' thoughts as I cross the empty road and no one is watching as I scale the siding of her house, my own Everest. I press against her window, planning to smoothly slide it up and then quickly slither into her room, where I will probably just stand in the corner like some obsessed gargoyle. My plan is ill-wrought, and I know she will scream bloody murder if I dare to wake her. I should leave. I will leave, but why is her window stuck? Perhaps it is painted closed, and really, I convince myself, I will be doing her a favor if I work it loose.

I try to slide it up again, but it still does not budge, so I bend closer to find out exactly where the paint is gluing the window closed, planning to focus on those spots. However, what I notice through the window surprises me. Who puts locks on their second story windows in Forks of all places?

My unnecessary breath stills when I see a slender hip, clad in pajama pants so thin they are practically transparent to my enhanced vision. They are so loose, though, they billow around the places I am trying not to stare at, camouflaging that which must be kept sacrosanct. But they do expose two entirely lickable hipbones. _Since when have I found hipbones erotic? _

Bella places her sinuous fingers on the window and flips the locks. We raise the window together, pushing it above our heads and her arm accidentally grazes mine. _I think it was an accident. Did she do it on purpose?_ I should move away, but instead I press ever so slightly against her, aligning our forearms, but carefully keeping anything else from touching.

My eyes rove across her arms, her face, her neck, the girlish swell of her chest. How could I have not guessed earlier at her avian nature? She is carved of ivory, petite, yet her neck is deceptively long and curved. Of course the only shape-shifters I met before her were the vile smelling wolves in La Push, but she smells neither foul nor fowl. Her scent is that of the summer I spent on my grandfather's farm in England, all strawberry jam and my grandmother's prized _Freesia grandiflora. _I had lost those memories until I met Bella. She was giving moments of my life back to me. She was giving my _will to live_ back to me, even in this undead limbo.

She is glancing down at the window ledge where my knees rest, and her eyes, her heavenly, cardamom eyes are momentarily hidden from me. I must regain her attention, I must tell her I adore her, I must tell her I would only climb buildings for her, _with love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls!_

"So," she looks up at my first word and I would drown in their depths if I could. "Why do you have locks on a second story window?" _For stony limits cannot hold love out. _Could I be any more of a stalker_?_

She giggles, actually giggles, and I feel like the sound is tickling me, urging me to giggle too, but I refrain. Then, suddenly, her laughter changes, deepens, becomes husky, and my stomach drops. This sound does not tickle, it strokes, _and what love can do that dares love attempt. _If I were not holding the window above my head, I would probably fall senselessly backward onto the ground below. How have I become a swooning pre-teen girl?

"My dad had this crazy notion that some overzealous vampire might decide to scale the side of the house in the middle of the night and sneak into my bedroom while I slept. I told him he was being paranoid. Pretty silly of him, huh?"

_Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. _I try not to look guilty as I hide behind my sneering mask. "I hope you didn't place a bet on that."

She leans even closer, her plush lips so close to my ear I can feel the moisture in her breath. Is she trying to torture me? "Nah, but only because I secretly hoped he was right." She _is_ trying to eviscerate me.

I turn to face her, but her lips are too close to my own. For the millionth time since I met her, I wish I knew what she was thinking. I can not even breathe steadily anymore and I must move my lips away from hers before I can look her in the eye again. I am suddenly very much aware of her bed a few feet away from us and my inner masher can not help but ask, "Are you going to invite me in?"

"Oh, so that's true? You have to be invited into a home before you can enter it?"

Her question reminds me of what I am. I am not just a besotted boy throwing pebbles at a girl's window. I am a vampire trying to woo his way into a shape-shifter's bedroom. I laugh at the situation, close to hysteria. My body shakes with the effort and our arms rub together, causing the little sparks that constantly jump between us to dance across my icy skin. "No, but I thought it would be rude to push you out of the way so I could hop into your room."

She releases another of her low, womanly laughs. "Well, thank you for being polite, but you can't come in."

My laughter stops abruptly and I struggle to hide my heartache at her denial before she quietly explains. "My dad should be home any minute now, and he'd be able to smell you in my room. I'd be grounded for the rest of my life, however long that may be."

I plan to spout something sentimental about waiting for her for eternity, but we hear the chief's cruiser turning onto the street. Both of our heads turn to face it, and I wonder if her father's telepathy is far-reaching like mine and not dependent on touch as I had believed when he touched me after Tyler Crowley almost flattened Bella. It could hardly be coincidence that he appeared at this exact time. "Speak of the devil," I whisper.

"Something like that," she replies, smiling sadly, and I wish I could keep her happy, could keep her _with me_ and happy.

I can no longer resist kissing her with her face still so close to mine, so I lean forward and place my lips to the light blue vein below her ear. She holds her breath and closes her eyes, and then I drop to the ground, softly landing on the balls of my feet and rushing away while her eyes are still closed.

I want to stay and listen to her fall back to sleep in hopes that she will call my name out again as she dreams, but I need to make sure her father can not hear my licentious thoughts regarding his only child, so I run home without stopping.

Alice is sitting on my piano bench when I walk through the door, hands folded in her lap as if she is patiently waiting for a lesson. I sit down and begin playing the swing tune she is humming in her head and she starts singing aloud. We continue like this for several hours, her silently telling me what she wants to sing next, and I cleanly segue from one song to another.

First Esme wanders in and leans against the piano with her hands making a little hammock for her chin, her foot tapping to my rhythm. Then Emmett drags Rosalie into the room and begins to Charleston alone, trying to coax her to join him. She crosses her arms over her chest and scowls, but even as she does so, her lips twitch, and before long she joins him in a Lindy Hop with a smile bright enough to light the room.

Jasper enters the room with his guests, squeezes Alice's shoulders and kisses her forehead, and then winks at me and leaves. Eventually Alice's song choices transition to more melancholy works and the others leave too. Once they are gone, Alice's thoughts turn away from the music to Bella, and my playing becomes even more somber.

She is thinking about what she told Bella, about how she does not trust her, but can not figure out why and feels as if she has forgotten something about Bella. I continue to play as I contemplate her thoughts. "Are you sure you were not simply sensing that she is a shape-shifter? Surely, if that is the reason you can not see her in your visions, then that must be why you felt disconcerted."

She hovers her fingers over the keys, wanting to start a duet but not sure which one. _If that's all, shouldn't I feel better about her now? _

I begin a new song and she starts playing the harmony after my first few notes. "Perhaps, once you get to know her…"

Alice's fingers stumble to discordant notes, and I know she did it on purpose to keep me from finishing my sentence since she always plays perfectly.

_Don't you mean __**if**__ I get to know her, brother dear?_

I chuckle at the irritation in her thoughts and we continue playing. Once the song is finished, she leaves me alone with my own thoughts while she seeks out her husband. I continue playing to drown out the thoughts and night sounds of the vampire couples in the house.

In the morning I race to the high school before the sun comes up and test various spots in the woods behind it to best watch Bella. I finally find the perfect place where I can watch her get out of her truck and see her going to and from all but one of her classes, but I will not be seen by any of the humans. Finally, teachers begin to arrive and I berate myself as my anticipation of seeing Bella again grows. Surely she will look exactly like my flawless memory of her from last night, but I can not squelch my enthusiasm. The first few students arrive and though it seems like eons, it really is only a few minutes more when I hear Bella's ancient behemoth rumbling down the street. She carefully maneuvers it into her parking space, and I snigger, until I realize I can not see her eyes because they are hidden by huge, tacky sunglasses. Even her hair is covered by a hood on her sweater and I try to get a closer look at what little of her is visible.

Despite looking like she is trying to hide from the paparazzi, she still glides to the porch of the English building with all the grace I have come to associate with her. Unfortunately, someone else has been watching her trek as well, and a growl escapes my throat as Newton approaches her. He tries to make small talk with her, but his mind is full of lurid imagery. To be honest, he mostly imagines sitting in a restaurant with her while she laughs at some stupid joke he attempts, but I am offended he even thinks of being alone with her.

She is telling him that she sunburns easily, explaining away her strange outfit, and though I can not read her mind, I get the feeling she is lying. Without even thinking about it, the obnoxious boy asks her out. I want to rip out his voice-box that is apparently not attached to his brain, his eyes that are still ogling Bella, his pathetic excuse for man-bits, but then Bella is gently letting him down, and I almost feel bad for him. At least, bad enough to consider letting him keep one of his eyes.

Bella turns his thoughts to another girl, and he is now picturing having dinner with Jessica Stanley. I shake my head in disgust. Oh, fickle youth!

She watches him walk away for a moment but then turns her head in my direction. Is she looking for me? I step further back into the woods to conceal myself, not wanting her to know that I will be spending the whole day lurking in the dark just waiting for a glimpse of her.

She spends most of her day pretending to listen to Jessica talk to her about dress shopping, and though I can clearly see the apathy written all across her face through Jessica's visions, the talkative girl continues to ramble on about it. I start to imagine Bella dancing with me, and I briefly contemplate pressuring her into changing her mind about the weekend's event, but then I feel as ridiculous as Newton, and I put the idea out of my mind.

The most interesting event of the day I witness is Bella growling at Mike when he tells her it is supposed to be sunny until tomorrow afternoon. It shuts him up and I wonder why she did not do it earlier when he asked her out. I also hope it means she misses me, but I try not to let my childish fantasies run away with me.

Before she finishes her last class I sneak to the police station to see if the chief is there. Unfortunately he is not, but after several minutes of listening to the busy minds inside the station I learn that his night shift begins in an hour, so I wander into the forest once more, waiting impatiently.

When Chief Swan does show up to work, I hesitate, realizing that I have once again failed to plan. I can not exactly walk up to Bella's house in the broad daylight and knock on her front door, not without one of her neighbors calling the National Enquirer to report an alien sighting. Even if I manage to get to her door without being seen, she won't want me coming inside where her father will smell me.

How do human boys sneak around to see their girlfriends? I suppose it is easier if said girlfriend's father isn't telepathic with superior olfactory senses just like the boy. How presumptuous of me to even think of Bella as my girlfriend when we have hardly spoken.

I take my time making my way to Bella's house, wishing I could just call Alice and ask her what to do, but considering how she feels about Bella, she would probably refuse to tell me even if she could see her future.

I stop in my hide out from last night across the street and listen to her house as I plot. I hear nothing from inside, but a soft groan surprises me from the back of the house. Curious, I carefully listen for her neighbors before darting across the street, and just as I reach the tree coverage beside her house I hear another sound, a whimper I would recognize anywhere as Bella's. It was permanently etched into my memory the day I accidentally hurt her wrist, and I panic at the thought that she might be in pain again now.

I run to her backyard, not holding back an iota of my supernatural speed. Rushing into the yard, not caring that I am lit up like Paris on Bastille Day, I only halt my charge when I am a few feet from Bella. I realize that she is also lit from the inside, though rather than sparkling, glistening or glinting as I am, Bella is glowing as if she has swallowed a star.

I watch her in rapture, stunned by the raw, luminescent beauty before me. Her eyes are glazed and staring wide at nothing I can fathom, a look I have only seen on Alice's fey features. I am struck by the notion that Bella must be precognitive too, and I begin to contemplate what she may or may not have seen regarding our future, but my thoughts go blank when I hear Bella moan.

She is making little sounds in the back of her throat now, arousing purrs and teasing coos, and I am as susceptible as any other man. I become hard, and with every small noise she utters, my jeans become more of a tight fit.

I try to envision what she must be seeing, and if blood flowed through my body, I would pass out as it all rushes to my nether regions. In my imagination, she sees me making love to her. I know by her sounds, by the growing and fruit-tinged scent of her arousal, someone is definitely making love to her in her vision.

I reach a hand out to her, planning to shake her awake, and the rainbow reflections that bounce off of my skin in the sunlight mingle with the halo from her glow. Just before I can touch her, her breathing increases, she starts panting, and my hand pauses in mid-air. Then, with clenched teeth she cries out "Yes, Anthony, yes!"

Without looking, or even thinking, really, I fly backward into the shadows of the forest so quickly my spine slams into a tree. My thoughts are fractured and blurred by her heady scent. Anthony is not my name. Is she seeing another man touching her? A snarl rips from my throat at the idea and my body begins to tense, wanting to go back, wake her up, and make her forget that other men even exist.

I grasp onto the tree behind me with my left hand, digging into the bark to hold myself in place against my buffeting emotions. I try to be logical, detached, but it is difficult when the lust inside me rouses my monster more than any taste for blood ever did. He whispers that I should show the girl that she is mine, to make her love me and only me. I intend to grab the other side of the tree with my right hand to further anchor myself, but instead it curls around the fly of my jeans, rubbing against me. _Et tu, Brute?_

The monster changes his tune in my mind since I am still somewhat struggling, and he is always more interested in instant gratification. My name may not be Anthony, but it is my middle name, a family name passed down through generations that I inherited from my grandfather's baby brother, who ironically enough passed into the afterlife at the same age I should have.

Bella knows my middle name, perhaps she would rather call me Anthony than plain, old-fashioned Edward. "_Yes_," the monster whispers, much as Bella had cried out earlier. "_Yes, that must be it!_" Do I really care what she chooses to call me? She may call me Anthony if she wishes, or Cullen, or Fang Boy, it really does not matter to me, as long as I can make her scream that name some day.

The monster thinks today would be as good a time as any, and I listen as her litany of moans and purrs continues. My right hand begins to rub my jeans to the rhythm of her breathing, and as it speeds up once more, so does my hand. Suddenly, she groans, one long, guttural sound and my eyes widen in shock that a noise like that could even usher forth from her pristine throat. I groan in response as I release inside my pants.

Then, without warning, she screams excruciatingly like she is being speared through her side, calling out "Anthony!"

Birds are frightened from their roosts and her dazzling eyes fly open and meet mine. I am a one-hundred and four year old virgin caught staring at the woman of my waking dreams as she envisions a sexual experience. My left hand is full of sawdust from the tree behind me, and my right hand and my jeans are covered in my own ejaculate. I do the only thing I can in the terribly awkward situation: I run.

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E/N: You think I'm crazy now, don't you? Or did you already know that? :-) Let me know what you think, please, please, please.

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